


we wrote a story in the fog on the windows

by sodium_amytal



Category: Home Movies (Cartoon)
Genre: Banter, First Times, Humor, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:21:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24758488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodium_amytal/pseuds/sodium_amytal
Summary: At eighteen years old, Brendon loses his virginity to his drunk, stupid soccer coach.
Relationships: Brendon Small/Coach McGuirk
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	we wrote a story in the fog on the windows

At eighteen years old, Brendon loses his virginity to his drunk, stupid soccer coach. His elementary school soccer coach, to be exact, since the two of them just keep running into each other; sports weren't mandatory in high school, so Coach McGuirk was never usurped by some shorts-wearing, whistle-blowing imposter. And it's not like Brendon hasn't had some unpleasantly dirty thoughts about Coach McGuirk over the years, mostly during puberty when his hormones were all over the place. But he didn't dwell on the presence of McGuirk in his sex dreams; plenty of unwanted guests pop up in his fantasies from time to time. Brendon still has wet dreams (nightmares, really) about the time he was eight years old and saw Fenton's mother naked. And sometimes Dwayne, the shaggy-haired guitar god seven years Brendon's senior, makes an appearance in Brendon's fantasies, though those seem far more normal than dreaming about getting plowed by your soccer coach.

It happens, as most cliché loss-of-virginity stories do, on the night of the senior prom. Brendon avoids the subject of prom altogether. He doesn't ask out a girl, since all the girls at his school think he's a huge dork. And the guys probably think he's a dork too, but Brendon doesn't like any of them _that way._ Even if he did, his queerness (he chooses that word because he finds nothing else quite fits him) is a secret kept under lock and key—except for the one time he let it slip to Melissa. She has always been his confidant, ever since they were kids.

Brendon lingers in front of the high school long enough to see Melissa and Jason arrive together. He's happy for them, really. Jason's planned on marrying Melissa since they were eight years old; by the contented expression on Melissa's face, she'd probably say yes if Jason asked.

Brendon heads for the woods outside of town. There ought to be at least a couple other prom-ditchers there too, drinking and smoking and bemoaning how "totally lame" the whole concept is. Shannon might be there, and maybe he'll have some weed with him. But Brendon doesn't find Shannon when he gets to the typical teen hang-out spot in the woods. Instead he finds Coach McGuirk lying on the hood of his beat-up Firebird. There are four empty crushed beer cans scattered on the ground around him like war wounded.

"Coach McGuirk?"

McGuirk lifts up his head and looks at Brendon. He's wearing a powder-blue blazer that would look ridiculous on anyone else. "Brendon, what did I tell you about that 'coach' shit?"

"Knock it off?"

"That's right. I haven't been your coach for"—he begins counting on his fingers—"five years?"

"More like six, but okay."

"What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be at prom?"

"Good one." Brendon scoffs and joins him on the hood. There's not as much room as there used to be with them both lying here, but Brendon doesn't mind the solid, warm press of McGuirk against him.

"Can you believe Lynch wanted me to help chaperone for some stupid dance?"

Brendon vaguely recalls Josie telling him about the middle-school dance earlier this week. "You said no?"

"I told him I would, then I snuck out about ten minutes ago." McGuirk laughs, and Brendon does too.

"He's gonna be pissed."

"So let him be pissed. Life is short, Brendon. Who cares what pricks like Lynch think?" McGuirk sits up and reaches for one of the remaining unopened beer cans. "You want a beer?"

"Uh, you know I'm not twenty-one yet—"

"Whatever," McGuirk says, handing Brendon a lukewarm can. "Live it up." He pops open his own can and guzzles a long drink.

Brendon does the same, squeezing his eyes shut at the bitter taste. He's never liked beer, but he supposes a sip or two is the cover charge to get cozy with McGuirk. And get cozy he does. Brendon lies back against the hood and gazes up at the stars.

McGuirk remains relatively upright. He glances at Brendon over his shoulder. "I guess you're gone for good after summer, huh?"

"Am I?"

"Well, you got into some big-name liberal arts college on the coast, didn't you?"

"Which coast?"

"Either coast. It doesn't matter. My point is, you'll be gone, and, well…" McGuirk pauses, sighs. "I'll miss you, I guess. It was nice having you around, y'know. You're kind of like the son I never had."

"Wow, Coach, tug on those heartstrings." Before McGuirk can protest, Brendon says, "But I'm staying right here. Tuition at the community college is basically free after all the grants I get for my mom being a single parent with two kids."

"No one likes a braggart."

"And I was never gonna get into somewhere like UCLA with grades like mine." Brendon laughs. "Can you imagine?"

"Yeah, what was I worried about?"

Brendon sits up and gives him a friendly slug in the shoulder. "Dick."

"Speak for yourself, kid."

Brendon takes another drink. Still bitter, but maybe he's getting used to the taste by now. "I'm not a kid anymore. As of last month I'm a full-fledged adult. Got my membership card and everything."

"You're still a kid to me. Shit, you're young enough to be _my_ kid." McGuirk finishes off his beer and crumples the can in his fist. It hits the ground with a metallic clink, bouncing off other discarded cans.

"Well, I'm not. Your kid, I mean."

McGuirk looks at him with an indecipherable expression. "Yeah, so? What's your point, Brendon?"

Brendon wants to ask if McGuirk's ever been with a younger partner, but he doesn't want to open himself up that much if he's only going to be rejected. And considering it's McGuirk, said rejection will probably be cruel. _Can't find anyone your own age_ , he might joke, laughing at Brendon's confession. _Jeez, kid, get some therapy._

It wouldn't bother him so much if there was even one person Brendon could talk to about his stupid crush. Jason and Melissa, bless them, would find it hilarious that Brendon's thirsting for their ex-soccer coach. Mom might panic and blame Brendon's lack of a steady father figure in his life, and Dad… Well, considering that he married Linda, Dad probably wouldn't have a problem with Brendon's May-December romance. But the gay thing might be an issue, and anything Dad knows about Brendon will eventually make its way to Linda and Mom. No fucking thanks.

"I—I don't know." Brendon feels color rising in his cheeks. He takes another drink to settle his nerves. "I just—I don't want you to see me as a stupid, awkward kid forever. 'Cause I'm not. I'm a—"

"—stupid, awkward adult," McGuirk says along with Brendon, and they share a laugh. "Look, just because your grades suck doesn't mean you're stupid. It means you suck at memorizing the pointless shit they teach you. You know how many famous actors and musicians dropped out of school?"

"Do you?" Brendon needles him.

"No, but there's a lot. Maybe half of them. Point is, school doesn't prove anything."

"Did you graduate high school?"

"Don't be a smart-ass."

Brendon finishes his beer and lies back on the hood. McGuirk joins him. The stars are plentiful in the sky above them. Brendon wonders if being out there on some other planet would change anything.

After a long period of silence, McGuirk says, "So no one asked you to prom, huh?" He speaks in the voice he uses when he's trying to be gentle; after knowing McGuirk for ten years, Brendon can hear the difference.

"Well, I could've asked somebody, but"—Brendon clears his throat—"y'know, I got busy with other things and it just sort of slipped my mind—"

"It's not the end of the world if you don't have a prom date." The gentleness in McGuirk's voice is gone. "None of this shit matters."

"It matters now. Not a single person asked me. Not even with a note in my locker from a 'secret admirer.' Jesus, not even fucking Fenton asked me."

"Would you have said yes?"

"No, but it would've been nice to be asked." Brendon sighs. "But I get it. Why would anyone like me? _I_ don't even like me. My movies suck. According to you I'm a smart-ass, and according to Melissa and Jason I'm rude, and—"

"Everybody sucks, Brendon. Some people just suck a little less. If it matters that much to you, I'll take you to the stupid prom."

If Brendon still had his beer, he would have spit it out right here, because this is definitely a spit-your-drink moment. "What? Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, you're not dressed for it"—Brendon's clad in jeans and a hoodie—"but whatever. We could crash it."

The idea of crashing senior prom is tempting, but Brendon would rather see where this goes. "Why would you—Why would you do that for me?"

"Don't make me talk about my feelings twice in one night. That's why I drink: so I don't have to."

"I thought alcohol makes it easier to talk about your feelings." Brendon's already feeling a buzz.

"Does it? Oh shit." McGuirk groans. "Fuck it. Am I taking you to prom or not?"

"Can we just skip to the part where I lose my virginity in the backseat of your car?" Brendon chuckles, couching the suggestion in a joke, but McGuirk's not laughing the way he would if this were anything but a proposition.

McGuirk looks at him with wide eyes. There are slants of color in his cheeks that the booze can't account for. "Holy shit," he breathes out, and, yep, Brendon pretty much wants to die right here.

"It was a joke," Brendon says, laughing nervously. "I already lost my virginity." A lie, of course, but maybe McGuirk will buy the story, and anything they do together will seem less dangerous because of it.

"With who?"

"Gentlemen don't kiss and tell."

McGuirk scoffs like Brendon's talking nonsense. "Don't lie to me. You're terrible at it. It's embarrassing."

" _You're_ embarrassing," Brendon grumbles under his breath, but it's not like McGuirk is wrong. He needs to escape this situation before it spirals even further out of control. "I—I should probably get going." Brendon slides off the hood onto staggery legs. The world feels like it's moving beneath his feet. "I've got, uh, stuff to do at home, and my mom's probably gonna start wondering where I am—"

"Brendon, wait."

Brendon pauses. McGuirk has sat up, and he's staring at Brendon as though seeing him for the first time. "You want me to fuck you? Is that what you're asking?"

The grit and gravel in his voice, those words and what they mean, the mental images they stir: all of this swirls in Brendon's head and forms a vise grip around his cock. One sentence has made him ridiculously hard. Brendon would be embarrassed about that if he wasn't so distracted by the way McGuirk's looking at him as if waiting for an answer.

"Don't make me talk about my feelings twice in one night," Brendon says with a nervous laugh.

* * *

The backseat of McGuirk's car smells like weed, spilled beer, and bad cologne. Brendon's sitting in his lap, shaking as McGuirk's fingers work in and out of him. It's a tight fit (only two digits), and Brendon doesn't know how he's supposed to take anything bigger than that. A cock would split him open, but the thought of that doesn't stop Brendon from nudging his hips into the meaty press of fingers. McGuirk's mouth is hot and alive around Brendon's nipple, and he can feel the gentle graze of teeth there, and he hears himself moaning and swearing into the steamy interior of the car.

"I bet I could make you come with just my fingers," McGuirk says, amused, and Brendon mewls a noise that proves his point. "You're so sensitive."

"I haven't come yet."

"But you're gonna," McGuirk teases, brushing a fingertip over the leaking head of Brendon's cock. It twitches at the touch of an unfamiliar hand, and Brendon bites down on a gasp.

"Then put your dick in me before—" _Before you regret it_ , he means to say, but McGuirk seems to interpret it differently.

"Alright, alright. Turn around."

His fingers slip out, and Brendon feels a profound emptiness. Brendon does his best to turn around in McGuirk's lap, settling his ass against the hardness there. McGuirk grunts and groans, and Brendon hears the sounds of a zipper being loosened, a sound that makes his cock stiffen further. Everything about this scenario (sex with an older man, a taboo attraction, Daddy kink) hits all the bullet points on Brendon's boner checklist. And doing it here in McGuirk's Firebird, a car that Brendon associates with his own childhood, feels symbolic somehow, like bridging the gap between adolescence and adulthood. Or something. He's not a poet.

Then he's being filled up, and McGuirk's lube-slippery hand clutches Brendon's hip as he goes deeper, deeper still, until a sharp surprised cry leaves Brendon's mouth without his consent. "Fuck," McGuirk sighs, his grip loosening a little, and Brendon has to laugh a shaky sound, because he feels it too: their connection, and the sensation of flying. They move together, McGuirk's hands on his hip and shoulder to hold him in place. Brendon ends up pressed against the backside of the front seat, but he doesn't care, just grasps onto it like the world's turning upside down and he needs an anchor. Their sex is almost combative, with fierce movements that lack rhythm or finesse. Brendon's moaning in a way he's only ever heard in porn; McGuirk's breath is hot on his back, and Brendon feels those ragged swears in his bones.

Somewhere between McGuirk's sloppy thrusts and his own body's rise and fall, Brendon comes. It takes him by surprise, like it's been punched out of him. Brendon slumps against the front seat, and he hears himself cry out and laugh another breathy sound of exhilaration. "Oh my God, that was—"

McGuirk groans a long, throaty noise, his hands gripping tight, then he is diminishing, becoming less inside of Brendon.

"That was awesome," Brendon manages to say, his voice still shaking.

McGuirk's breathing hard like he's just finished running a marathon. He mouths kisses over Brendon's spine, and Brendon feels McGuirk's tongue licking the damp sheen of sweat from his skin. There's also the faint trickle of jizz and lube down the inside of his thighs, and that's something Brendon never thought he'd like.

"Don't call it 'awesome,'" McGuirk gripes.

"Alright, fine, it was awful. Zero out of ten. Would not recommend."

"Smart-ass." McGuirk rakes a fingernail over the softening, sensitive head of Brendon's cock—not enough to hurt, just to make him jerk and yelp in surprise.

"Ah! Careful, you big oaf."

"Why'd you want me to pop your cherry, Brendon? Did you make a bet with someone that you'd get laid tonight?" McGuirk chuckles and traces his nail down the shaft. Brendon shivers; it's a sharp, focused sensation that borderlines on pain, though not entirely unpleasant.

"N—no… It's just… I like you, and prom night's as good a night as any."

McGuirk's hand falls away. "You _like_ me?" He laughs. "Jesus, that's pathetic."

"Fuck you, dude. How long has it been since you screwed someone who actually liked you?" It's careless and cutting, like most of Brendon's cruelty, and even though he can't see McGuirk's face, he knows the expression there is one of hurt. "Sorry," Brendon says. "That was mean."

"Yeah, well, you're right. I suck. A lot." McGuirk's hands are disturbingly gentle now, skimming over Brendon's thighs. "When people realize that, they don't stick around." He sounds defeated, and Brendon realizes that beneath McGuirk's anger and bitterness is a man wondering where his life went wrong. "So why are you still here?"

'Here' could mean many things at once: this same little town, or the woods on the night of the senior prom, or the backseat of McGuirk's car. Or even something abstract, like why is Brendon still a part of McGuirk's life despite the guy's glaring character flaws?

Brendon shrugs, unsure how to answer. "I guess… I suck too. But maybe we suck in a way that works with each other, y'know?"

"Stop talking about sucking," McGuirk says, squirming against him, and Brendon feels something solid push against his ass. "It's getting me hard again."

"Already? I'm impressed."

McGuirk exhales a sigh. "I cannot wait to shove my cock into your smart-ass mouth."

Brendon didn't know that was something he's into until just now; faint stirrings of arousal twitch in his groin. "Don't you have a middle-school dance to chaperone?"

"Oh, sure, I'll just walk in there with this raging hard-on. Don't be an idiot, Brendon."

Brendon rocks his hips in McGuirk's lap to feel the shape and size of his cock. "I wouldn't call it 'raging,' at least not yet. It'll get there, though."

"Will you stick around?" McGuirk asks, trying to sound casual, but Brendon hears the desperation there.

Brendon says that he will and turns around in McGuirk's lap to face him. His expression is flushed and hopeful, and Brendon really wants to kiss him. Is that weird? It's probably weird, so he won't. "Can I still call you Coach?"

Then that familiar scowl is back on McGuirk's face. "If it means that much to you, sure."


End file.
